A Certain Degree of Neurosis
by WhenisaySami
Summary: Sometimes those invisible injuries exist on our hearts. Blaine has a past and only one psychologist in the world can solve it. Kurt has a past and only one patient can help him overcome it. Older!Kurt AU
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Welcome to the fabulous world of Psychologist!Klaine, a world where all my fantasies come true, a 'verse that, as far as I know, I made up and this excites me to no end.

Semi-important note: I've reworked this from another fandom not on this site because it I think it just fits these beautiful boys so much better.

Also, both Kurt and Blaine are pretty much cannon unless otherwise stated later, except for the fact that they never met, because Kurt is seven years older.

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><p>"A certain degree of neurosis is of inestimable value as a drive, especially to a psychologist."<p>

— Sigmund Freud

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><p>Blaine Anderson had an obsession with little kids cartoons. It could, and probably would, be considered unhealthy by professionals, something having to do with a repressed childhood trauma or maybe even a tendency toward pedophilia. But to tell the truth his fascination had more to do with the feeling of comfort found in such shows than anything any pseudo new age psycho babble excuse a shrink would come up with.<p>

Nevertheless, when his mother caught him watching Charlie and Lola at three in the morning for the ninth straight time, that's exactly where she sent him. To a freaking shrink.

"I'm done with this Blaine." She had sighed wearily, as if her eighteen-year old son watching a show designed for a three year old was a burden weighing her life down. "I'm setting up an appointment for you with Marci's doctor first thing in the morning. Now shut that off. Please."

Her voice rang in his ears as he sat in the deserted waiting room early the next morning. He shifted in the chair uncomfortably.

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><p>Kurt Hummel had an obsession with shows about murder. Outside of his home, the only place he could watch them, he was an exceptional psychologist, and he felt sure this was something he would have found concerning in a patient, but he didn't like to think about that. In truth he really had no idea what so appealed to him about the shows. They more often than not were just thirty cheap, over sensationalized minutes of fear tactics, tiny drama wrapped in a package which was blatantly engineered to play or prey on the natural human fear of death. As a psychologist, they should have sickened him.<p>

But he couldn't stop. He tuned in every night, and had several seasons of various shows on DVD. After a long day of helping other people deal with their mental traumas, caused by the very real evils of this world, of confronting those evils with them head on, of having to act fearless in the face of them, he enjoyed nothing more than to sit down on his couch with his dinner and his step brother's dog and have scenes of very fake evil's play across his television screen.

He didn't have a significant other, and he probably never would. He had good friends and a great family, and that was enough. Because he didn't want kids, and definitely never would, not with the intimate knowledge he had of the world's evil's.

There was no mental problem Kurt Hummel couldn't fix. He had an unusually reputable reputation as one of the most noted and respected psychologists of his time, even at only 26. There was no one whose mental trauma's he couldn't heal.

Except his own.

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><p>About twenty minutes after Blaine signed in, the pretty blonde receptionist poked her head out from behind her computer and smiled at him.<p>

"Mr. Anderson? The doctor will see you now." She said with a giggle.

"Thank you ma'am." He muttered, ever the polite young man even as he walked to face what he was sure was going to be a Massive Waste of Time.

As he made to pass her however, she stuck her hand out and waved it in his face. "Hold on!" She waited until he made eye contact, and then said, "I like your hair. Can I touch it?"

He stared at her for a moment, surprised, but as she did not seem to be kidding he slowly nodded his consent. Making a small sound of satisfaction, she stood up and, cautiously as if she suspected it was going to bite her, poked at the stiff strands on top of his head.

After a few moments of this he gave her an awkward crooked smile and she removed her hand, happily returning to her desk where she proceeded to type something rather furiously. Shaking his head in bemusement, Blaine hastened down the small hallway to the door with his doctor's name on it.

His hurried steps were cut short when he caught sight of the room's sole occupant.

At first, he wasn't sure he was in the right place.

The man sitting behind the doctor's desk, in the doctor's chair, was not what he had been expecting the doctor to be. For one thing, he looked to be about Blaine's own age, maybe right around eighteen or nineteen at the most. He was immensely attractive, with soft looking, perfectly coifed brown hair, high cheekbones, kind yet astute and absolutely gorgeous glasz eyes partially hidden behind thick black frames. When he stood Blaine instinctually knew he would see that the fitted pants and polo shirt he was wearing hugged carefully sculpted abs, arms and ass with effortless grace.

The man sat with his chin in one hand, his other hand on the chair, elbow akimbo. He looked to be evaluating Blaine, seeming to take in every detail as the young man slowly approached him. Finally he gestured for him to sit on the couch directly across from the desk. As Blaine complied, a slight smile light the pensive face.

"Good morning Mr. Anderson." The man said as he stuck a smooth hand out for Blaine's calloused one to shake. His voice seemed to promise things. "I'm Dr. Hummel, Kurt Hummel. I'm your new psychologist."


	2. Chapter 2

Blaine tugged awkwardly at the small curl on the nape of his neck that always seemed to escape the confines of the gel he ran through his hair every morning.

After the initial introductions, Dr. Hummel had continued his silent scrutiny of the teenager and the room had lapsed into silence. At first it was a little uncomfortable having the attractive older man staring at him so intensely, but after about ten minutes of it he was just bored.

Abruptly, as if they hadn't just been sitting in total silence, the doctor spoke up.

"So Blaine, can I call you Blaine?" He paused, seemingly waiting for an answer. When he got a nod he continued. "Ok Blaine, here's how this is going to work. You talk, I listen, I make evaluations, I give them to your mom with your permission. Sound good?"

Another nod.

"Cool."

After taking a moment to consider his words he continued. "So you're here because you like… to watch TV?"

"Kid shows." Blaine corrected. "You know like, Disney channel in the morning and stuff. My mom thinks it's a problem. It's not."

Dr. Hummel didn't say anything. Afraid he was going to start the sitting-and-staring thing again, Blaine rushed on.

"It's really not. Look, I know you're a shrink, and I know you're supposed to ask me 'How does that make you feel?' until you find something wrong with me, but honestly that question is stupid. And there's really nothing wrong with me. I mean, just because I enjoy watching Winnie the Pooh from time to time does not mean that I'm going to go out and fuck a toddler or something. Because I'm not. Going to fuck a toddler I mean." He stared defiantly at the other man's blank face.

"Well. I'm really glad the toddlers of the world are safe from you." The elder stated solemnly, smoothly managing to keep a straight face, "I'll be sure to inform the local daycares that the threat has been neutralized. "

"Good I'm glad."

"I'm glad you're glad."

Silence reigned again.

Slowly, both doctor and patient's mouths started to twitch upward. Finally the younger man offered a small smile whilst the older broke into a knowing smirk. They sat like that, just staring at each other until Dr. Hummel broke the silence.

"So… how does that make you feel?" he said with the grin.

Blaine smiled back and threw a couch pillow at him.

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><p>"I'll play it for you sometime Dr. Hummel, but what-"<p>

"Call me Kurt."

"I- What?"

"I call you Blaine. It's awkward and cumbersome for you to call me 'Doctor Hummel' all the time. Just call me Kurt ok?"

"Um. Ok."

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><p>They both agreed very early in the session that there was absolutely nothing mentally wrong with Blaine, after he explained the comfort theory. Of course Kurt had a professional obligation to give him a full mental evaluation, but that quickly turned into a farce, the two men choosing instead to talk about their newly discovered mutual love of coffee, Vogue, and Broadway. By the end of the session each of them had something new that they had discovered about the world.<p>

For Kurt, it was that he had just met a person on whom the world's evil's had very little hold. He found that refreshing.

For Blaine, it was that he absolutely had to see a psychologist again. Preferably this attractive, funny, attractive, sensitive, fashionable, attractive, caring, dangerously attractive one.


	3. Chapter 3

There was just something about Kurt.

It wasn't his astounding good looks. Ok, actually, it was somewhat about his looks, but there were other things too. Things that made Blaine's heart beat faster and flutter against his ribcage erratically, like it wanted to burst from his chest. As if his heart itself couldn't stand to be trapped in it's cage, away from Kurt, for one moment longer. He was turning into such a girl, and the worst part was that he didn't have any real problem with it. He was already in that deep.

He cursed Kurt Hummel's beautiful cheekbones.

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><p>Starting a conversation had proved to be mistake number one. Not wanting to waste the hour Blaine's mother's insurance company had already paid for, Blaine had casually suggested that they just talk for the remaining time. Besides obviously being an excellent listener, Kurt was also vastly interesting to listen to. In their short hour together the younger man learned that Kurt had skipped Kindergarten, third, and sixth grade, and that his favorite color was green because when he was younger his favorite older cousin had decided he hated green M&amp;M's and would give them all to Kurt, who adored chocolate in any form, in his disgust. Blaine learned that Kurt, though a Broadway junkie, held a special place in his heart for the Blues because when he was four that same older cousin had told him the musicians playing the music spilling out of the club they were passing had sold their souls to the devil to play so well, and this appealed to a young Kurt in some naïve, awestruck four year old way.<p>

But even if listening to his doctor's endearing anecdotes had been his first error, Blaine's second miscalculation, being lulled into enough comfort to actually start telling the man some of his own not so endearing tales, soon eclipsed it in stupidity.

"You should have seen her face when I told her I was going into music education instead of premed in the fall. She was so happy I was dropping Musical Theater, but so pissed off I wasn't going to become the kick ass emergency room hero cum money making machine of her dreams, I don't think she actually knew what to do with himself." Blaine's eyes had lit up with a bitter fierceness even as he lay back on the couch across from Kurt, "Like I chose education as my second choice just to stick it to her, and not because I have an overwhelming fear of vomit. I mean she should have just been happy I dropped the major I really want. For her, no less."

Scoffing slightly in disgust, Blaine had looked up abruptly and caught Kurt's gaze. His own eye's widened slightly as he saw a trace of his own intensity blazing in the face of the other before he noticed Blaine watching.

It was here that Blaine first started his decent into the role of love struck teenage girl. His heart sped up a little bit, his eyes took on a slight glassy tint, and the young singer felt his hold on his own heart loosen as the fierceness ebbed slowly away from Kurt's eyes to be replaced by cheerfulness as he abruptly changed the subject.

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><p>It was to an empty house that Blaine arrived that afternoon, which wasn't all that unusual. He had no siblings and his parents were corporate lawyers, usually only home on weekdays between the hours of midnight and six in the morning.<p>

As he punched in the gate code in front of the pretentious house his mother's old money had purchased, his phone buzzed by his side. Parking and sliding his finger to open it he saw a new text message flashing. 'Good you're home! We're coming over.' it read. A second later another came in; 'And no, we were not just sitting in the car across the road waiting for you to get back, because that would be stalker-ish. We just happened to be driving by and see your car. Honest.'

Blaine smiled and hurried to unlock his front door, retreating to the safety of his entrance hall to watch his two best friends speed up his drive, tumble out of their car and race up the steps into his house. The routine hadn't changed much in the three years they had been best friends.

"I won!" David shouted in triumph.

"No… effing… way." Wes panted, "I so crossed the line first…. like two seconds before you."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night kid." The other condescended.

"Shut up. I must celebrate my victory with food!" The winded boy huffed away the competition forgotten.

"Hey Blaine, how'd the thing go this morning?" David asked as they followed their ravenous friend to the Anderson's spacious kitchen.

"Um. It was… You know, it was-"

"Yeah how'd your crazy person meeting g- OW David! Come on was that necessary?"

"It was fine." Blaine interrupted before his friend's could begin another of their pointless arguments. "The doctor had the same opinion we did of my supposed 'psychosis'"

Here he stopped to roll his eyes and Wes took the opportunity to interject, "You mean he thinks the mental illness actually belongs to your mother." To which Blaine nodded.

"So that's it? Is he going to tell your mom that there's no problem, other than the fact that she's a loon? In more professional terms of course."

Blaine pulled the refrigerator door open, simultaneously slapping David's hand away from the open package of Oreo's on the island. "Stop that, you'll ruin your lunch. Yeah, I mean, hopefully that's it. Kurt said he would talk to my mom for me, tell her there's nothing to freak out about but- What?"

Turning from the fridge, ingredients for sandwiches piled in his arms, he stopped as he observed the strange looks on the faces of the other two boys.

"Kurt?" David began, frowning quizzically.

"Who's Kurt?" Wes finished his thought, an identical expression on his face.

Blaine blinked. "Kurt, he's… That's my doctor's name. Dr. Kurt Hummel."

"He told you to call him Kurt?" they spoke together. He hated it when they did that. It was very disconcerting. Also unsettling was the fact that their twin quizzical frowns were morphing, at roughly the exact same rate, into something more suspicious.

"How old is he?" "So you're not seeing him again right?" Not the same question, but still somehow in harmony. It was freaky how they did that.

Finally seeing what they were hinting at, Blaine let out a small sigh and turned to the counter to drop the food in his arms.

"26. And like I was saying, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to have to see him again. Ku- Doctor Hummel is going to give my mom his professional opinion that I don't need therapy, that this isn't a problem, and then she will take it and I will be happily shrink free." He wrinkled his nose, a sudden thought occurring to him as he started making sandwiches, "Or, well, worst comes to worst, she'll decide that he is the loon and transfer me to another one. Either way I won't be going there again."

He felt a tentative hand touch his shoulder and he stiffened, determinedly not looking up from the ham he had begun slicing, his mood swinging from upbeat to closed off as the weight of what his two best friend's were implying bore down on his shoulders.

"And anyway," he continued, shaking off the hand and he turned to the pantry for chips, still not looking at either one of them, "it's not like he was cute or anything. Christ he just told me to use first name because he's less than a decade older than me, he wasn't coming on to me for god's sake-"

"That's not what-" "We were just-" "Jesus Blaine we just don't want-"

"I KNOW!" Blaine whirled around, startling them into silence. "I know. You don't mean to upset me. You're just looking out for me. You just don't want what happened with Mark to happen again… Well it won't. Ok? I'm a big boy now, a grown ass man. I'm not sixteen. I can take care of myself. Besides it wouldn't even be illegal anymore."

The two people closest to him in the world flinched (in unison) at his flippant tone, but backed off. As the two people who knew him better than anyone, they knew when continuing on a topic would do more harm than good. There was a long pause as the three boys cooled down.

"Sooooo…" Wes began, some time later, "Did you catch the Teen Choice Awards? Harry Potter huh?"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm not really sure and I'd rather be safe than sorry, so some things in this chapter (from the first break to the second) might be trigger-y.

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><p>Six hours later, exhausted but happy, Blaine leaned against the jam of his front door waving goodbye as the taillights of David's car disappeared down his drive. Despite their overprotective tendencies he really did love his best friend's.<p>

Sighing, he turned to walk up the stairs, kicking the door shut behind him in a practiced move. As much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn't truthfully tell himself that their overprotective senses were wrong in this instance. He was definitely attracted to Kurt.

Still, he mused as he reached his doorway and kicked off his shoes, they had no right to imply anything illicit by just the fact that Kurt had asked him to call him by his first name. Blaine was nineteen. And Kurt hadn't done anything wrong. Kurt knew nothing about Mark.

Mark. Mark. Blaine threw himself backward on his bed and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried his hardest to will away the various memories his mind always conjured up when that name was mentioned. As usual though, he failed.

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><p>The cold bathroom floor, all things considered, was not an ideal place to rest your head. But, Blaine had to admit, at least there were pretty patterns on the floor. The dark red was in stark contrast to the snow- no… not snow, that was so cliché… the… <em>pristine<em> white of the floor. The splotches made by the blood streaming from his face were marring the floor in some sort of strange pattern. Blaine thought it was beautiful. He should frame it. It could be in some kind of neo-miniwhoseywhatsit art galleria. Gallery. Damn it was so hard to think when his head was hurting this much.

"Happy Birthday Fag."

Was that what they'd said right before they punched him in the face the first time? Wow it was his birthday wasn't it? Sixteen years. It'd been a pretty good sixteen years. It was only recently that it had all turned to shit. And how many people could say that they had had a good, solid, almost sixteen years of happiness? He really shouldn't complain.

"Blaine? Blaine! What the hell?"

All of a sudden Blaine felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around his chest and hoist him up from where he had been lying on his stomach, turning him around into a sort of odd embrace in his apparent savior's lap. He felt hands pushing his matted curls back from his face -was it matted with sweat or blood? Was he even hot enough for it to be sweat? If not then that meant he was bleeding near his hairline too. He couldn't to be bothered to care– and he heard a frantic voice repeating his name –whoever it was was being so loud, and his head just hurt so much, shut up, shut up voice– and then finally he saw a vaguely familiar face swimming before his eyes –were faces supposed to be that blurry?- before he decided keeping his eyes open was just too much of an effort.

It was only roughly ten minutes later, waiting in the nurse's office for his parent's and the ambulance, a million people running around, trying to talk to him, everything around him in utter chaos, that his muddy brain was able to put a name to the blurry-faced savior whose shoulder his tired head was resting against.

"Where the hell is my so- Blaine! Oh my god, Angelica, he's here!"

"Blaine? Honey? Oh B, we're going to get you to the hospital now, don't worry baby. Where is that damn ambulance?"

"Mr. Reese, thank you so much for finding him, we cannot thank you enough."

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><p>"Mr. Reese?"<p>

The man in question looked up from the book he'd been reading alone at his desk in an empty classroom. "Blaine! How are you feeling?"

"All right. Listen, I just wanted to um, thank you, for finding me and-"

"It was no problem Blaine. God of course it was no problem. I'm just glad I found you. When did you get back?"

"They discharged me yesterday morning after I spoke with the police, and told me I could come back to school today." God. Blaine had never felt so awkward in his entire life.

"Well," his teacher paused for a moment, seemingly searching for something in his face, which he was sure held a suitably awkward and embarrassing expression. The man apparently found whatever he was looking for. Standing up, he crossed the classroom in a few quick strides and ushered Blaine into a chair with a friendly hand on shoulder. "Come on in, sit and talk with me a little while."

Hesitating only slightly, Blaine complied when he saw the broad grin on the face of his teacher. At first it was slightly awkward, but soon as if by some mystic force the older man got the younger to open up, in a way he hadn't with anyone since the whole school had been made aware of his sexuality. For some reason, with Mark Reese he felt safe.

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><p>Blaine began to rely on that connection more and more in the coming weeks. The physical attacks had grown less conspicuous since the incident in the bathroom had led to the perpetrators being arrested, mostly things like a slight "accidental" shove into a locker or a just-this-side-of-too-hard-to-be-accidental jostle in the hallways. But that didn't mean there weren't notes stuffed in his locker, classmate graded paper's handed back with slurs written in between the margins, no one volunteering to be his partner in group projects, whisper's of "fag" in crowded hallways between classes. The architect's of those oh-so-daring actions had grown bolder with news of his attack. And Blaine couldn't take them alone anymore.<p>

The slight touch of fingertips skating across his bare back was all it took to bring Blaine back from the hazy stage between waking and sleeping and fully to the land of the living. Sighing in contentment, he rolled away from the fingers and smiled at the man they belonged to.

"You have to go soon." The man said, his answering grin dimming slightly as Blaine's did. "Wouldn't want your parent's to be worried."

"Mm, you mean suspicious?" Blaine said impishly, his own wandering fingers pulling the man's face to his for a chaste kiss. He chuckled slightly, and pushed the man away before he could respond, wiggling the covers away from where they rested on his bare hips and getting off of the bed as he did so. Knowing what it would do to the man still on the bed, he let out a groan as he stretched his arms above his head, taut muscles relaxing from the exertion of the last couple hours. Sure enough, seconds later he felt hands on his hips pull him back against a strong chest and hot breath ghost over his neck.

"Well... they won't be home anyway right? It'd be irresponsible to make you go home to an empty house... an empty bed." Blaine shivered as the husky voice tickled his ear. He spun around in the embrace and pushed the man back onto the bed, giving him a sly grin and meeting the other's intense gaze with one equally charged with lust.

"Thought you'd feel that way."

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><p>"Mark?"<p>

"I told you not to call me that at school. It's inappropriate." The bastard didn't even look up at the doorway where Blaine stood.

"Oh so now you're worried about being inappropriate?" Blaine's voice dripped with derision but Mark seemed unfazed, "It's funny, when you're down on your knees in your apartment it seems perfectly ok. Tell me, Mr. Reese, how is it perfectly… appropriate to be in that position with one of your students, but not to have him call you by your first name?"

That at least seemed to garner a reaction. Slamming the paper's he'd been grading down, Mark stalked toward the door to close it and grabbed Blaine's arm to drag him further into the classroom, "Fuck Blaine shut up! Anyone could hear you! You know it's not like that."

"Oh yeah? Then what's it like? Because it seems pretty obvious to me."

"God damn it Blaine, it's not like that. I love you! It's just that… no one would understand."

Blaine had understood though. He understood that now he was just living in some bad teen soap opera. Mark might "love him", but he would never… could never make it known to the world. Blaine now knew he deserved better. In fact, he reflected, it was Mark that taught him that.

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><p>He'd transferred to Dalton the very next day. It had been a little too easy to convince his parent's, who knew something was wrong, knew the bullying had turned psychological but that it was more than that, and had no idea what it was. They were lost, guilty, and scared and Blaine, who was feeling the exact same things, capitalized on those volatile emotions and got himself transferred. Luckily both his uncle and grandfather had gone to the expensive private school with the alluring zero-tolerance policies, so he was immediately accepted as a legacy.<p>

The night before his first day, he spent hours writing a letter to Mark and mailed it, explaining everything, why he had to leave, and promised he would never tell anyone what had transpired between them.

He never heard back.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Reviews make my heart smile. I ask a little patience though, I'm still new to and don't know all the etiquette quite yet. I just today learned that you can respond to reviews.

Anyone miss Kurt's point of view? I certainly did.

Possible trigger warnings ahead. Someone please message me on tumblr if I'm completely wrong on that though because I'm still not sure what qualifies.

P.S. I mangle the English language a bit in this chapter in the name of an attempt on contemporary literature. I'm quite ashamed of myself.

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><p>Chapter Five<p>

"I have frequently seen people become neurotic when they content themselves with inadequate or wrong answers to the questions of life."

-Carl Jung

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><p>Kurt Hummel was in deep shit. As soon as the boy had walked in the door, with his stupid perfectly styled curls and his stupid perfectly attractive face, he knew it would come to this. The almost desperate need to talk with him again, the butterflies in his stomach about what to do when the occasion finally arose. There were rules about this kind of thing, rules against growing interest in your overage-yet-still-so-young new patient, but he had never been a rule follower before now and damn it if that wasn't coming back to bite him in the ass. Burt Hummel had warned him, "Follow your dreams kid, do what you want, but be prepared because your actions have consequences," blah blah blah, of course Dad of course. Yes, I know I matter, thank you.<p>

Why hadn't he listened to that veritable temple of wisdom he had for a parent? Well he was listening now but fat lot of good it did him. The way he saw it, there were two choices, neither of which had clear-cut consequences. One: Cut his losses and all ties with the curly haired menace that haunted his very dreams. Two: Fall madly in love with said curly headed spook and attempt to live happily ever after.

The last one would be so easy, or at least easier than the first option. The problem was, Kurt was quite sure would tear his fragile control of his own world apart.

Kurt sighed as he pulled into the parking space a few steps away from his ground floor apartment, letting the natural rhythm he had known since age fourteen, _push clutch, first gear, release clutch, emergency brake_, soothe him in the way only a memory from childhood like working with cars could ever do. There was no denying that the meeting with the boy, BlaineBlaineBlaine his helpful libido reminded him, had shaken him up. Here was a bo-Blaine, who…. Well simply put embodied everything Kurt was scared of.

The second he walked through his door and flipped on his light Kurt was mauled by the vicious animal known as Drizzle the Fluffy. In reality, Drizzle was a thousand (read: eleven) year old black Labrador retriever that liked to pretend she was still a puppy and jump on anyone who wouldn't bop her nose for it, but Kurt was a cat person who couldn't stand dog hair on his clothes.

"Drizzle, sit." He huffed exasperatedly. Obviously something had gotten the vile animal excited, but he didn't actually care enough to find out what it was. "Drizzle… Drizzle, sit! Get off me you demon animal!"

"Hey! Is that any way to speak to my dog? Watch your mouth little brother."

Kurt's head snapped up at the sound of the voice of one of his favorite people in the world. His lips curled into a smirk as he saw Finn Hudson in the doorway to the small apartment's rather large kitchen.

"Your dog was getting her black hair on my white blazer. You do the math, Hudson." Relaxing his face into a welcoming grin he gently shooed Drizzle off and turned to hang said blazer on his coat rack. He didn't honestly hate the dog. In fact, a sort of grudging respect had been formed for it when she had come to live with him all those years ago. She was an excellent source of warm body on those nights his nightmares woke him up in a cold sweat.

Kurt turned around quickly as a crash and a curse sounded from the direction of Finn. "Ouch, shit, hey when did you put that coffee table there?"

Crap. There it was. _Knock on the door, flash of light, dark indistinguishable shape staring him in the face._ He shook his head violently to clear it of the images threatening to overwhelm him. He already knew tonight was going to be one of his extremely rare bad nights, but he would dust off his acting chops for Finn's sake. "It's always been there Finn, and you knock into it every time you're at my house. Speaking of which, why are you at my house?"

"What, I have to have an excuse to come visit my little brother and my dog who he is oh so graciously taking care of?" Kurt gave him a Look as he flopped down on the couch. "OK, OK, I was raiding your recipe file again, Rachel keeps texting me saying she's craving your vegan non-fat kosher apple brownies and I figured I'd-"

"Try and surprise her by sending them all the way to New York with a note saying you'd made them yourself yes I get it." He flashed his step-brother an affectionate smile, but it faded quickly. "Finn you know you can always just ask me…"

"And further convince you that after eight years this chair is still inhibiting me from doing normal things like baking surprises for my long distance Broadway babe? No thanks Hummel. I'm gonna give you the same line I've been given you since day one. I'm an amputee, not a fucking invalid." Finn grinned that adorable grin only Finn Hudson could ever pull off and rolled past Kurt's seat on the couch on his way back to the kitchen, ruffling his brother's hair as he went past. "So you helping me or not?" He called back.

Kurt shut his eyes again and breathed very deeply through his nose. You're stronger than this Hummel. You're not damaged, you're not a victim. You can call Abigail later and talk about this but right now you have to go in there and help your brother. As usual, his little pep talk worked. Freaking out, about Blaine, about Finn, about the memories, would all have to come later. Every patient was allowed a little relapse from time to time but this patient could damn well delay it until he was alone again.

* * *

><p>The front door clicked shut and his happy grin faded. He grabbed the two things he knew he needed, his cell phone and the remote and sat down on the couch, hurriedly switching on the TV and flipping to one of his saved episodes of Law and Order. He quietly thanked whoever was listening that he didn't have any patients tomorrow or the next day. He'd been dealing with his problem long enough to know he wouldn't be fit to deal with anyone else's for a couple days.<p>

Shaking fingers punched in the familiar number and a shaking hand brought the phone to his face. Everything was shaking, he needed to hear her voice _now_ or he was gonna lose it and damn it why wasn't the show starting and he was still shaking and the phone was ringing but she wasn't picking up and he couldn't hold it in anymore and he was going to freak out he just knew it and-

"Hello?"

Shaky exhale. Eyes slid shut and from behind them he heard the opening notes of the show. "Ab…Ab…Abby."

"Kurt what's wrong?"

"Everything Abb. I-I,"

"Tell me about it Kurt. It's been over two years since you've had to call me for something like this. Let's talk, and we'll get you through it together."

He slowly exhaled as the combined comfort of his psychologist and friend's voice and the sound of the drama playing on his TV screen brought him back to reality. "It's been a bad day."

* * *

><p>"When… You… Come home… To me, I'll wear a sweeter smile, and hope that for awhile, you'll stay…."<p>

Kurt knew his voice was wafting down the stairs to where Finn was watching football, but he couldn't really be bothered to care. He knew Finn probably didn't mind anyway, as long as he could still semi- hear the game. Kurt continued filing his nails and singing random snippets until he heard the doorbell ring. That had to be Mercedes, twenty minutes late for the start of their sleepover but the bitch out could wait until after he'd hugged her for saving him from boredom.

"I've got it, I've got it, I've got it, I've-"

_Door swings open, strange man, two of them, strangers, black masks, what the hell is going on here, no, no you can't just force your way into my house, no, you are supposed to be Mercedes, no, what's happening-_

There's a struggle and his relatively tiny body is thrown backward into the hall. It's noisy and his brother, his big, football playing brother who is actually his step-brother but the step has never been important because they are brother's, hears the noise and his yelling and comes to check it out and no Finn, god no not Finn, stay back, go back to watching football and maybe all this will become a dream. But no, no, there's a fight, and lot's of yelling, and a gun shot, and a scream of agony, and his own scream of outrage, another gunshot, another scream of agony, and Kurt is just sitting there, and crying, and yelling, and not fatally hurt but he can't move, he can't move and everything is just… so…

* * *

><p>The next few months are anguish. Agony and recovery and more pain. Details trickled out. They didn't manage to get anything after he blacked out because his neighbor, a man from Texas so naturally he owned a gun, had heard the shots, called the cops and ran into their house to deliver his own brand of cow-pony justice. They were from out of town. It was just a normal home invasion. It wasn't a hate crime like they all feared. None of this made Kurt feel much better, but neither did it make him feel any worse.<p>

That same neighbor, his name was Devin, he was now a cherished family friend, had saved Finn's life by tying off his leg. But the leg was wrecked and there were gory details, about how badly the bone was splintered and how horribly the artery had been ripped, but Finn didn't want Kurt to hear them. The leg was gone, there was no saving it. Apparently that never happened nowadays but it had happened to his big, football playing brother and that was all Kurt bothered to care about.

It was a long time before he even bothered to care about his own injury, a few well placed plates to fix his own semi-shattered bone, and his arm would never be quite the same so no dancing for you Kurt Hummel. No dancing ever again. I know you've already given up your dream of being on Broadway because New York is just not feasible with your dad's health being the way it is and your finances being what they are, but no dancing either OK? You can still sing though. If you can even muster up the strength to find something to sing about.

Eventually he'd found Abigail, and after that everything got a little better. He worked through his issues. He found a real comfort in therapy, and when his head had finally cleared enough for him to see again, he found his calling in it as well. As soon as he was well enough, he went back to school and switched his major to psychology. And the rest as they say was history. But he knew, no matter how fixed he was, no matter how much better he was now than the shaking mass on the floor he had been, he knew something inside him would never be fully fixed. Something inside of him was broken. Something inside of him, despite years of therapy, despite being almost fully 'fixed', still intoned to him at the oddest moments so as to make him believe it wholeheartedly, the world is an evil place Kurt, no place for love.

* * *

><p>AN: Soooo…. I PROMISE I WILL GET BACK TO FLUFF SOON. I don't even know what's happening the story is just taking on a life of it's own. Kurt's got his bitch face on in my head and is like "Dis is mah back story bitch, you better recognize." And I fantasize about his boyfriend so I feel really guilty and have to do everything he says.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Harry Potter?"

"Love it."

"Excellent, then we can be friend's again."

"It's not my fault that Katy Perry is a disgrace to the human voice in concert Blaine-"

"Hush child. I'm going to block out the fact that you just said that and concentrate on my next question. Gryffindor or Slytherin?"

"Pft, do you even have to ask? Ravenclaw, obviously."

Ok yes. Blaine had lied to his best friends. To be fair, it hadn't been a full lie. Kurt _had _given Mrs. Anderson his professional opinion that Blaine was not batty. But Blaine told Wes and David that he believed that would be the end of it or that he would transfer doctors, when in fact he knew his mother would never allow either. For one thing, Marci Perkins was his mother's best friend, and if she had recommended this doctor Angelica Anderson was very well going to use this doctor for a while. For another the insurance had already been forced to pay for another ten sessions during his mother's slight bout of hysteria. The most important reason of all however, was one that his mother was decidedly not made aware of when he was telling her his thoughts on why he should go back and visit with Dr. Hummel again. He didn't think she needed to know exactly how close he felt to Kurt after one hour with the man. So he kept her in the dark, just as he was keeping his best friends in the dark. But as with so many things (the full story of what had happened with Mark for instance) what his mothe in addition to WesAndDavid didn't know wouldn't hurt them. It's not like Blaine had any intension of perusing anything untoward anyway.

He smiled and laughed at something amusing Kurt said in his Why-Ravenclaw-Is-Vastly-Superior-to-Either-Bravery-Or-Cunning rant, and almost didn't even finish his last thought. It was that much of a lie.

* * *

><p>The decision to tell Kurt about Mark on the sunny afternoon of their third session was not a conscious one. His only excuse was that, deep down under their budding friendship, Kurt was his psychologist, and you're supposed to word vomit your feelings all over your psychologist right? Plus the receptionist, he was told her name was Brittney, had disarmed him right before his appointment with her general… oddness.<p>

"Elf man!"

Blaine had not been amused.

At the look on his face she quickly backtracked. "I'm sorry, do you prefer the term bobbit? Santana said you probably would."

He continued to stare at her, not quite knowing what to say. Was she being serious or fucking with him or what?

"Are you… not a bobbit?" It was obvious she was confused at his silence. "You have pretty hair. Your eyebrows are really fuzzy. You're short. Santana said you were a bobbit. And San is really smart."

"Are you trying to say…" He shook his head incredulously, "hobbit?"

"Yes. That's what I said. I looked it up online and it said you people like to bake cookies and stuff in trees. I think I remember Coach Sylvester talking about that once actually. But it was about Mr. Schue. So it could have been a lie. Hey you kind of have hair like Mr. Schue. I wonder if you're his son too. Want some peanut butter?" She blinked up at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then reached down to grab a spoonful of peanut butter from the jar that had suddenly materialized at her computer and stuck it in her mouth.

"Um." He was at a loss. "Ms… Pierce is it? I'm afraid I'm not a hobbit. Or an elf. Hobbits… aren't… real?"

He was met with a blank stare. Meeting it with his own incredulous one, he slowly backed away and hurried through the door to Kurt's office hallway.

When he arrived he must have still had somewhat of a stunned look on his face because Kurt took one look at him and burst out laughing.

"I see you've been talking to Brittney."

"Yeah… She's very… unique, isn't she?"

His doctor smirked.

"That's one way to describe her I suppose, though it's generosity makes you sound like Santana. Her girlfriend." He added when he saw the question forming in Blaine's face. His eyes adopted a kind of fondness to them that Blaine had quickly discovered meant he was talking about one of the member's of his old Glee club. "Oh! Her fiancée I guess I should say. They're getting married as soon as the new law passes. They've been in love since we were all in high school together."

Kurt got this other look on his face just then. Like he was literally miles away, seeing something Blaine couldn't quite see. It was only there for a moment, but it looked sort of like… fear. But as Kurt turned fully toward him Blaine could not find a trace of it in his face, leaving him to conclude that it was never in fact there at all.

"Anyway," Kurt continued, clapping his hands together, his face bright and shiny once more, "Let's get on with your psychotic evaluation shall we?"

A wide, vapid smile settled itself on Blaine's face as he hurried from where he'd been standing in the doorway to throw himself onto the chaise in front of Kurt's chair dramatically. "Oh doctor!" He exclaimed in an affected voice. "I have just the most puzzling problem! Why just yesterday I was in the shower and-"

"Okay, okay!" His laughing shrink threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't mention the E word ever again, I promise!"

"You promised that last time too." Blaine accused, dropping the accent to narrow his eyes at the other man playfully.

"Well the difference between this time and last time is that this time, I mean it."

This proved to be perfectly acceptable to Blaine, and they soon settled into a discussion about the songs Blaine had begun learning on guitar at Kurt's insistence. Words just seemed to flow so easily between the few men. Kurt made Blaine feel different. Not safe. He doubted severely whether he would ever be able to use that word so freely again. Maybe the word was valued. Kurt listened to everything he had to say, had an opinion on it, and never held it back. For some indefinable reason the internal guards Blaine had on everything he'd held inside for so long were almost immediately lowered the moment the two struck up a conversation. Even knowing this though, it still surprised Blaine that he'd given up one of his most important secrets so quickly.

Kurt mentioned something about how he still kept in contact with his old Glee teacher, how he was such an excellent mentor and now friend. He started in on an anecdote about the habit he'd developed during his senior year of going over to his single mentor's apartment to bake things in his quiet kitchen.

"It had just gotten so loud around the house, because when Finn moved in Puck might as well have moved with him with how often he came over. And Mr. Schue looked so sad after all of his semi-girlfriend's found out about each other and dropped him. My mom always used to say the smell of something baking in the oven brightens any home. He'd sacrificed and done so much for us, I wanted to do something nice for him you know? Blaine? Blaine, what's wrong?"

A warm hand dropped to his forearm but he barely felt it. No, god no. This was not the time. He'd indulged himself after that first session with Kurt, when his friends had dragged up all those memories. He had allowed himself to be swept away in reminiscences, worries, regrets. But as he forced himself to sleep that night he'd also shut them all back into that convenient box inside his head and locked them tight. He would not allow it to be opened here, with Kurt. He could not.

But the warm hand moved down to his own hand, and a musical voice said his name in a concerned tone. He felt his eyes moving to stare into azure pools laced with alarm at his unresponsiveness. He felt his mouth moving to form the words he desperately wanted anything but to say. In the nick of time he shut it, his brain working fast in an attempt to come up with a cover story.

"Nothing Kurt." The words came out sounding forced to his own ears. Pull yourself together Anderson, he thought around the disturbing images still assaulting him. "It's nothing. You bake? I didn't know that."

Kurt stared at him for a moment. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking down at their joined hands, then leaned slightly closer to Blaine, an almost hard look in his eyes.

"Tell me Blaine. Please."

And just like that everything came tumbling out.

* * *

><p>"Wow."<p>

"Yeah."

Silence.

"I won't tell anyone you know. I can't, legally, since you're nineteen and my patient. I mean I'd have to if you were underage. I wish something could be done about it now but- Anyway. But I wouldn't, even if you weren't my patient, as long as you were overage. You can trust me Blaine."

Hazel eyes blinked back at Kurt through half dried tear tracks. He shifted his arm so that it was tighter around the younger man's shoulders.

"Yeah I know." The response, so simple and yet so powerful, shifted something within Kurt. He felt it's tug in the vicinity of his heart and he suppressed a shudder. To be honest, it had started pulling at him somewhere around the middle of Blaine's disturbing story. To be uncomfortably honest, it had begun the second the boy had opened his mouth that first day.

What are you doing Kurt, you ridiculous fool? That boy should not be in your arms right now. He should be on this couch, alone, and you should be in your big scary shrink chair. He is your patient, and you are a stupid man who is afraid of everything.

Brainless or wise, Blaine had him seeing through different eyes. And quoting musicals. As much as part of him wanted to laugh, he was almost too paralyzed with fear to do much more than reach his hand up to stroke the still softly crying nineteen year old's curls in what he hoped was a comforting way. Kurt was caught in some weird cross between friend and psychologist auto-pilot as thoughts whirled and twisted around themselves in his mind; his conversation with Abbey, his near break down, and this debilitating feeling that seemed to be overtaking his body among them.

But at the forefront was a sickening rage. Rage at this man who he didn't know but had every right to hate. Rage at he who had made Blaine, the beautiful creature in Kurt's arms, hurt like he was hurting right now. Rage that almost completely blinded Kurt to the fact that a) this was not a normal thing to feel on behalf of someone you'd known less than three weeks and b) this was not something Kurt ever felt for anyone outside of his small circle of friend's and family. (Later he would placate himself by pointing out that Blaine had inserted himself with an almost inhuman speed into the place where he could safely be called Kurt's "friend")

Kurt wanted to rip someone's guts out. For the first time in recent memory, the normally obsessively sane and rational man felt some of the old fire from his high school days, pre-attack, settle back into his bones with a vengeance. He knew, without a doubt, that if this Mark character were to stumble through his office door right now, he would receive a lot more than an infamous Kurt Hummel Bitch Face. In fact, half of Kurt desperately wanted to pump Blaine for information on the bastard so that he could take matters into his own hand's, maybe call Puck up and ask if he wanted to take a walk down badass memory lane. But the slight tremors still stirring the creature that was settled in his arms kept him grounded. Vengeance could wait until Blaine was recovered. Actually, the part of his brain that had retained some sense pointed out, vengeance could probably wait until Kurt had recovered considerably as well.

Feelings spread through him on a tidal wave, before he knew it virtually eclipsing the fear he had come to know so well in situations like these.

Before the attack there had been a few fun flings once he'd reached college, nothing too serious. But after, when he was well enough Abbey had suggested that if he must date he should try his hand at relationships with a little substance. So first there had been James, about a month after he had gone back to school, which he probably should have known was going to end in tragedy. He'd gone back to seeing Abb once a week after that disaster had met its untimely end. Then Antonio, when he was studying abroad right after graduation. That had been nice for while, but then Antonio started talking about following him back to America. After that came Robert, but not until after Kurt had finished his book and started his practice and things had settled down slightly. Rob had looked promising. Funny, intelligent, caring, understanding, smoking hot. All the things Kurt thought he should probably want in a potential mate. So it would be easy to imagine his confusion when Kurt found one day that he just could not make himself relax in his arms.

A boyfriend, Kurt had always assumed, should make one feel safe. And for whatever reason, Rob didn't do this for Kurt. Being in a relationship with him for whatever reason, as had happened in so many relationships before him, brought back the always-looking-over-your-shoulder feeling Kurt had only seldom had since finding Abb. It was right after breaking up with Rob that Kurt came to the conclusion that something within him was irrevocably broken, beyond even his comprehension. And like so many things about his condition, he accepted this fact without question.

But this felt good. Blaine in his arms, he was realizing, felt right. Amazing as it was, Kurt finally felt safe. The twenty-six year old had not felt this way in a very long time.

He kind of liked it.


End file.
